Lisbeth looked at her for an instant with an odd shrewdness in her poor foolish face. Then she nodded, evidently satisfied with what she saw. "I'll be good," she agreed. "I'll go in. Oh, my pretty darling! My dearest precious! Lisbeth will be good!" And after a quick clasping of Sheila, she went obediently into the mean little house and, without even a backward glance, closed the door behind her.
Sheila stepped toward Ted. "I'll go home now," she said wearily. Then she added, as if she were stretching out a wistful hand to his sympathy: "Oh, Ted, she thought—until the last—that I was her little girl!"
"Yes," he said, all his resentment returning, "and you let her! You let her, Sheila! How could you do such a thing?"
"But it comforted her. It comforted her to think so, Ted."
"She wasn't comforted when she thought you weren't real!"
"Yes, she was—even then. She was when I promised to come back."
"You can't keep your promise."
"Why can't I?"
"Your grandmother won't let you. You know that as well as I do. 'Tisn't your place to comfort Crazy Lisbeth, and Mrs. Caldwell will tell you so. Her troubles aren't any of your business."
"They are!" cried Sheila, with an anger now that matched his own, "they are—because I understand how she feels! I haven't any mother—and Lisbeth hasn't any child. Don't you see that it's just the same for both of us? And her little girl may be comforting my mother up in heaven right now!"